


dropped in the desert

by Electrosa



Series: gielinor oneshots [5]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Gen, Gore, wasn't sure if it warranted the "explicit" tag but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 17:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12775743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Electrosa/pseuds/Electrosa
Summary: Rosa makes her way back from the events of DAT, thoroughly exhausted and wounded into the bargain. When Nomad threw his spear, she wasn’t fast enough to dodge, and took it full to the shoulder. She managed to struggle through the rest of the quest, and immediately afterwards went to the desert to seek help from Wahisietel, instead of Azzanadra as may have been more sensible.





	dropped in the desert

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill out a writing prompt; this specific prompt was "your OC’s healer/doctor talking about their wounds". This ended up as more of a short fic detailing the events around the injuries, but hey, writing is writing.
> 
> Warnings: blood, gore. Please tell me if this warrants the explicit tag.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The sun bothered many other creatures, exacting its inexorable toll on them with relentless rays and ferocious heat, but here, in the place where its power was worst, he thrived with an easy glee. Even the harrowing temperature of the desert was nothing to a being of such volcanic origins as he, and instead the endless expanse of sand became a quiet home to him.

He was aware, however dismissively, of how the desert sunlight cowed other (lesser) creatures, but never concerned himself with this, since any animal he cared about was already made for such an environment.

So it was that he almost failed to notice that he had company.

Locating something other than his kin by their magical field alone was less precise than their inherent sense for each other, but could be easily rectified by getting a simple familiarity with whomever needed to be tracked. Akthanakos had not yet learned the intricacies of her little human aura, but was familiar enough with Rosa’s presence to recognise the faint impression of green somewhere across the desert.

He brushed it off at first. She traveled the desert surprisingly often, whether in pursuit of her current duties or to visit a certain wiseman.

It was when that small verdant blip stayed in place for a good half hour that he began to worry. It was the peak of the day and she rarely  _stayed_  within the rolling mass of dunes - it was always a middle step in her journeys.

Akthanakos warped partway to her, closing the distance with long strides apparently unruffled by the silken sand. He crested a rise and looked ahead, to the sides, and down - to see a crumpled form half-sunken into the lee of the hill.

“Rosa!” He slid down the incline and crouched next to the stricken world guardian. “You fool, did you come out here without water?”

His only reply was a fevered mumbling of his name, and a blind swat at his leg. Rosa was curled over on her side, one arm buried under the opposite shoulder.

“You should not have stepped into the desert without water. What were you thinking?” His bass growl shimmered across the heat-parched air, but didn’t conceal his concern. Akthanakos reached out and gingerly rolled Rosa onto her back, only to be met with a clipped cry.

The sand underneath her had been tinted bronze, blood oozing from between her fingers and clagging into gritty clumps. Covered though it was by her torn shirt, Akthanakos could see the hasty attempt at bandaging and the red that seeped through it regardless.

“Rosa! What in the name of Zaros are you doing trekking across the desert with a wound like that?!” He didn’t know whether the copious bleeding meant the injury was new and deep or old but still open, but it had already been enough to topple Rosa in tandem with the heat stroke. Even now her murmured half-words trailed into silence.

Mutely, Akthanakos cursed his own lack of knowledge in human anatomy. Had he been faced with another mahjarrat, he could have healed them with far more ease (or simply told them to hibernate), but humans were so much more  _delicate_.

Gently, he began to lift Rosa from the sand, hissing at the larger-still stain of red underneath her. Whatever pierced her had run her through. Her arm hung useless from the crippled shoulder, swaying as Akthanakos awkwardly positioned her in his hold.

This needed to be addressed by someone more powerful and learned than he - and immediately.

–

Regret was not a sensation Akthanakos was overly familiar with, but he now felt it in droves.

–

Ali the Wise paced languidly through his austere abode, sweeping errant grains of dust from shelves and rearranging books into a more satisfactory alignment. He did not expect to be joined by the world guardian, who crumbled to the floor the moment her feet touched the ground.

Instinctively he fumbled to catch her, already too late, but kneeling close enough to see the leaf of parchment clutched in her hand.

He pulled her upright first, asking what on Gielinor happened, and was answered by a fearful shake of the head, the letter proffered like a shield.

Well. She was conscious, at least.

Wahisietel took the letter, furrowing his eyebrows at Akthanakos’ angular handwriting, apparently rendered in flame for lack of a more sophisticated writing implement.

“… found Rosa in the desert… wounded badly…

… took her to Azzanadra, asked what happened…

… forced to assist Zamorak steal the stone… tried to explain to us…

… Azzanadra was not pleased.

… attacked… Freneskaen…

… I believe she was headed to you while in the desert.”

Wahisietel’s face hardened, but he said nothing and folded the letter away into a pocket. He turned patiently to Rosa, softening his expression into one of quiet empathy.

“Rosa, please let me heal you. I am not going to judge you; my only concern is for your health.”

For a moment he feared she would refuse, or try to bolt. Her eyes, wild with fear, looked everywhere but at him, desperately taking in any possible escapes. She shivered like a cornered animal, hand clutched white-knuckle at her chest.

And yet through all that, he could see the creeping dizziness, the blood at the corner of her mouth, trickling down her jawline from her ears…

“Please, dear.” Wahisietel began. “You’re ill. Akthanakos explained everything I needed to know. I will not harm you.”

Another tense second, then Rosa nodded weakly. With a sigh, Wahisietel cupped his hands to the sides of her head, lifting the damage of heavy Freneskaen bit by bit. She slumped where she sat, released from the vicious ache, but no less dizzy than before.

“How is your shoulder?” Without bothering for an answer, Wahisietel ran his hand there next. The gaping hole had been carelessly - but mostly - healed, leaving him little work. Searching surreptitiously for any further damage, the scholar sat back.

“You’ve lost a great deal of blood, and that is rather more difficult to fix. I must insist that you stay here and recover, Rosa.”

She nodded again, too disoriented and deadened by fear to argue.

“I-I’m so s-sorry, I–”

“You can tell me later. You’re in no condition to talk now.”

After helping her to her feet and into the single bed - a process that was almost him carrying her - Wahisietel waited until Rosa slipped into an exhausted sleep before leaving.

He and Azzanadra were going to have words.

 _Stern_  words.


End file.
